The Romantic Erotic Novel

Chapter 20 – Part 3, No longer a Man

This is chapter 20, part 3 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.

Chapter 20 – Part 3, No longer a Man

PerfectPenis sat on my stomach and pumped his penis faster. He was engorged, ready to explode at any moment. I felt tension in my groin, arousal, I couldn’t take my eyes off his penis. My wedding ring gleamed in the light as it slid up and down his penis. PP said, “Beg me to castrate you and I’ll destroy you now.”

PerfectPenis slid down my body onto my thighs, pausing to rotate his crotch across my genitals. How good it felt to have his perfect genitals rubbing against mine, making love to me, destroying me. This was the highest form of sex – violent destruction. The dark volcano bubbling and seething within me approached eruption. My penis hardened and throbbed as he ejaculated, spurting his semen on my genitals. PP smeared his semen on my penis and began to pump my penis. He said, “Enjoy this, it’s the last climax you’ll ever have, if you hurry.” His penis drooped and dribbled semen. I closed my eyes and imagined licking off his semen, and I ejaculated. PP laughed, “That was a pathetic erection, the last one you’ll ever have.”

His pumping of my penis became squeezing, twisting and pulling. I realized PP wanted to tear off my penis. He paused for a moment, turned my wedding band around his finger with the crest inside his palm – so the raised ‘M’ would cut my penis as he twisted it.

I hadn’t considered destroying my penis would be part of the castration, and would have preferred to keep the complete penis. I could still climax if he pumped my penis, and I wouldn’t look deformed. However, PP wanted my penis ripped off, so I wanted it too, and I encouraged him whispering, “Arránquelo, chíngeme, hágalo!” (tear it off, fuck me up, do it).

I raised my groin to afford him a better grip on my penis. He gripped the base of my penis with fingers of the left hand, squeezing hard to make the shaft and head stick up, then twisted and pulled on the head with the right hand. I felt little pain and watched excitedly but I was already mentally detached, indifferent as if watching him tightening a bolt with a wrench. The pain was the wrong type, much different than testicular pain, and it wasn’t pleasurable. I had just climaxed and my penis wilted, soft, and slippery with semen and he couldn’t grip it solidly. My penis shrank and dribbled semen as he abused it. He fumbled with my penis, unable to do much damage until the semen dried and became sticky. Then, I saw bruises, abrasions and welts forming.

But I felt only distant, hollow pain. I watched my body on the floor as if I were floating several feet away. My body was still, my groin elevated into his hands. He twisted my penis around until it formed knots like a twisted rag. I should have felt pain but felt nothing except the rendering of tissue, tearing inside. He continued twisting and I felt another tissue tear.

PP was a genius – this was not a penis Maria would ever want in her body again. He dug his fingertips under my penis head and tried to tear the head off but it was still too slippery and soft to hold. I wondered why he didn’t bite off the head. I had visions of PP ripping off my penis head with his teeth, spitting it out to be eaten by a dog. Or better yet, he would chew and swallow it, my penis integrating into his body. I hissed several times, “Muérdelo, arránquelo, termínelo!” (bite it off, tear it off, finish it).

When PP gave up, my penis lay flat, deep purple, segmented by two angles. PP had broken my penis. PP admired his handiwork and became erect again, perhaps the biggest I had ever seen. He ejaculated, spraying his semen onto my genitals again.

PP was indeed a genius and I admired him. At that moment, just a few feet away from my wife, he destroyed my ability to ever please her sexually again. My deformed penis would never enter her again. I might never be able to climax again, my sexuality was being destroyed with my own willing and eager help. And soon he would destroy my testicles. I thought it might be better if he tore off the penis so the stub would match my soon to be empty scrotum.

I wished María was watching at that moment so she could see the strong man utterly defeat and castrate the weak man – the ultimate triumph of the dark, heavy Male Mayan blood.

My mind drifted into my future – without testosterone, my breasts might swell to become female breasts. I would have strange men slamming their penises inside my anus, fondling my deformed genitals, sucking my nipples, and repugnantly trying to kiss me. They would push my face into their genitals and I would lick their testicles before they fucked my mouth, sucking out their semen.

I knew I’d never be able to return to Mexico, where I’d be a queer freak. María would throw me out as soon as she learned of what I had become. I’d stay in Guatemala, probably at Lake Atitlán because María’s relatives wouldn’t accept me in the house in Antigua. I would find a lover, a man with a big hard penis and a big appetite for fucking me. I wouldn’t become a whore for every man in the country. I’d only fuck my lover and PP, whenever he wanted, however he wanted, and life would be good.

PP grabbed at my testicles and began squeezing on them. They had pulled up tight against the bangle which impeded his grip, so he fumbled a few seconds to remove the bangle. My testicles were slippery and, free of the bangle, moved around in the scrotum so he caused little pain. I panted, crazy, watching him trying to seize the testicles, hoping for the end of the torment of being a man. I twisted my body and spread my legs so he could get a better grip. I told him to circle the scrotum above the testicles with his index finger and thumb to pull them away from the penis. It was an uncomfortable half-grip for him but he managed and began to apply severe pressure. From high above, I watched Guy’s body writhe and bounce on the floor as PP squeezed, sometimes arching his back and neck to support the pain as PP managed prolonged squeezes.

Guy transmitted this sensation to me, intense, but tolerable, and highly pleasurable. My mind’s eye watched the scene, watching my body thrash around on the floor. I felt the pain as sexual pleasure. My testicles escaped through his fingers again and again, and each time he repositioned the ring of thumb and index finger around my scrotum.

His hand tired and I knew he’d never finish me like this. I told him to slip his middle fingers down on both sides of my scrotum between the penis and the testicles until he had both testicles entirely within his hand. When he got this grip, he would be able to crush my testicles easily. I was super excited now, out of my head. I knew I only had minutes left with any claim of being a man, my Master was finally going to make me his ‘puto joto castrado guycito’.

I raised my head from the floor and looked past my freshly mangled penis, but all I could see was his wrist extending into my crotch. PP pulled his fist up into my view and I saw my scrotum and testicles bulging from the pressure through his fingers. I hissed my unconditional surrender of my self to him through clenched teeth, “¡Hágalo! ¡Destrúyame!” (Do it! Destroy me!)

PP picked up my briefs from the floor, wadded them into a ball, and pressed them against my mouth. I bit and pulled them into my mouth, and bit hard against the elastic waistband, against the pain I knew was coming. My beautiful, sexy whore, María, was only a few feet away on the other side of a door, immersed in a masturbatory trance, her hips circling around in a rolling orgasm. She was unaware her husband of three decades was being castrated a few feet away, unaware I would never be able to fuck her again.

PerfectPenis’ first squeeze caused my entire body to buck, and I saw the pleasure he felt at my pain in his face. He gave many quick squeezes, watching me intently, judging my pain as he squeezed. He squeezed harder several times pressing my testicles against his palm with his fingers, and the pleasure became excruciating pain. I reflexively tried to buck him off my body and to twist around to face the floor, but he easily pulled me back by my testicles. He literally had me by the balls in a steel-trap grip, a grip I had helped him acquire. I was glad my hands were tied behind my back or I would have involuntarily beaten him off my body.

From the evil glee in PP’s face, I guessed he intended to torment me as the prelude to castration. And did he ever! I contorted on the cold tile floor, my body bucking with each surge of pain. I tried to sit up to butt him with my head, but he easily pushed my body back to the floor.

Although the pain extending through my body was real, my mind remained detached, out-of-body, observing the pleasure on his face and the spectacle of Guy’s body thrashing and flopping around on the floor. It reminded me of a fish thrown from the water onto the rocks. More than physical torture of me, PP sought revenge for all the hate he felt for gringos, and for me, that particular gringo that had stolen his adolescent love decades ago.

Guy’s body contorted into great arches, every muscle from his neck to his toes strained, visibly protruding against the skin. As I watched, I marveled Guy’s body hadn’t yet succumbed. I had always thought of Guy as a coward, but now, watching what he endured to please María and his Master, I swelled with pride for Guy, for his hidden courage.

And I was equally proud of PP, that he destroyed my genitals with his bare hands – that’s how it should be between men when the prize is a woman – flesh against flesh, the strong man destroying the weak. María should be watching this, watching her strong, Mayan dark-blood husband destroying her weak, pathetic, pale-skinned husband.

I floated around to the other side of my body to better appreciate PP’s technique. PerfectPenis shifted his hand on Guy’s testicles every few moments, squeezing, pulling and twisting, damaging every cell, constantly augmenting the crescendo of pain, converting Guy’s testicles into perfect orbs of pain. PerfectPenis was meticulous and methodic, crushing while watching Guy’s face and body, judging his technique. I remembered in the videos how he fucked that whore María as ruthlessly, rotating his penis around her vagina as he stroked into her, pinching her nipples, judging his technique as she convulsed in orgasm. María was as helpless to resist him then as Guy was now, completely and gratefully controlled in his hands.

Yes, I was grateful, pleased to surrender my genitals so María would be exclusive to PerfectPenis, to the man she now loved. I was grateful to please María. But why the torture? Why not crush the testicles and be done?

PP’s hand tired. He released Guy’s testicles for a few moments, to shake, stretch, and rest his hand. But even as PerfectPenis rested, Guy’s body continued to writhe on the floor; the testicles must be severely damaged. PP repositioned his grip around Guy’s testicles and resumed crushing.

A flash of red light caught my eye – it was a video camera under a houseplant on the mantel. PerfectPenis was recording Guy’s castration! It was genius! If María ever came to doubt our love for her, she would only have to watch the video to see again the sacrifice we made to please her. How fortunate I was to enjoy the beautiful privilege of enduring this pain for María.

That’s it! Guy still loves María! That’s why the torture is necessary and has to continue until Guy is broken. It’s not sufficient to destroy Guy’s genitals, he can still caress her breasts, still lick her vulva, still stimulate her to orgasm with his tongue. No, Guy has to be broken in mind and spirit, broken completely so he will never touch María again.

I saw by Guy’s thrashing and twisting on the floor PP had increased the intensity of the torture. I understood then PP was not evil, he was simply doing his duty for the woman he loved.

PP was intensely aroused again, his black penis the largest and hardest I had ever seen. The veins in his penis were distended as if to explode. But he seemed exhausted from the effort – sitting on Guy’s legs, holding Guy’s body down with one hand and crushing his testicles with the other. I felt sorry for PP, that he was forced to torture María’s husband to the breaking point. I thought María should be watching this, watching every excruciating detail of what these two men did to please her – so she could finally discard her husband and be exclusively with her husband and lover, PerfectPenis, the man she now loved.

For all Guy’s writhing and contortions on the floor, I knew he was not yet broken, the pain was still bearable. I wanted PP to torture me unbearably, to lift my body in the air by my testicles, to shake my body by his crush on my testicles like a dog would shake a rat, to crush my testicles to a slushy pulp and shake me until my body flew into pieces. I wanted the pain to be unbearable, to take my mind over the edge into madness or death. I wanted María to have her lover unconditionally, without me around to confuse her. I wanted to please her with the gift of PerfectPenis.

How will I know when I break? Will my body stop twisting and thrashing on the floor? Will it fold in two? Will I scream, “¡Basta, ya no mas!” (enough, no more!)? Will I lose consciousness? Will I die?

Yes, I should die, it’s the perfect solution.

Even though I had pleased her, I knew I’d be miserable without María, skulking around on the edges of her life. I would hate my life, and she would hate what I had become. Merely being broken by PP wasn’t enough; if I really wanted to please María, I had to die, and now was the perfect time. I had to make PP understand my castration had to cause my death.

I reentered Guy’s body, was momentarily stunned by the pain, but it was now exquisite pleasure. I reveled in the pain, and in the pleasure that would ultimately accrue to María. The ecstasy continued for several minutes until the longing for death overwhelmed me. Now I knew PP had broken me, and I flushed with love for PP, for his gift to me and María. I spit out my briefs, and María later said I was screaming, “¡Termínelo, aplástelos, máteme, máteme!” (finish it, crush them, kill me, kill me!).

PP’s weight lifted from my body and I instinctively rolled onto my side into the fetal position, exhausted, rocking, moaning, twitching. PP’s hand pushed between my legs from behind, grasped my testicles, rolled and pulled me up on my knees. My body shook and wobbled on legs too weak to support my body. My face was leveraged against the floor by a force pulling up on my bound hands and my knees were forced apart. Through my mental haze, I realized this was my kill position, perhaps my last moments of life.

I twisted my head around and looked at my genitals – my broken penis was dark burgundy, hanging at odd angles and my testicles appeared swollen, perhaps double their normal size. The scrotum was bleeding, cut by my wedding band. I watched as PerfectPenis took a few seconds to reposition his hand around my scrotum, to squeeze my testicles directly against each other, and he pulled my testicles down into my sight, squeezing while twisting his fist. The scrotum was dark purple, bruised and abraded by the crushing, seemingly oozing out between his fingers. The veins were black and engorged with blood that had no escape. He gave quick squeezes, surely enjoying the jerking of my body and my head snapping, straining at the neck as if to break free from my shoulders. The jolts caused my legs to give way, my body to collapse on the floor, and he pulled me upright again. And again. And again.

PP dragged me by my hair and testicles and laid me over the coffee table. The edges of the stone top dug into my skin, scratching and cutting. His next squeeze was harder and my body bucked, but the table held my weight. Now I knew why PP had chosen this motel – the slate top coffee table was his Mayan altar where I would be sacrificed.

PP opened the bedroom door and returned. The binding on my hands was released, He grasped my hair and pulled my head and upper body up and back until my arms supported my body. PP forced me to look straight ahead, straight into the doorway of the bedroom, to the bed where María lay on her back. She was propped up on her elbows, her magnificent nipples pierced my eyes. Her face flushed with a mixture of intense sexual excitement and confusion. Her legs were apart, her labia open, displaying her exquisite orchid vulva. This was what I was losing forever, PP’s final torture for me.

I desperately wanted to bury my face in her vulva one more time; I commanded my body to crawl to her, but my limbs were paralyzed. I flashed back to those wartime newsreels where Jews would passively kneel in front of Nazi soldiers to be shot in the head. I always wondered why they didn’t fight since they would die in any case – was it helplessness or hopelessness, or fatalism? I waited just as passively for PP to finish me, sure and content this was my destiny. A pure-blood Mayan guide had taken María’s vagina on an altar of stone at Copán. This pure-blood Mayan would sacrifice my genitals and my life on a stone altar in a motel outside of Antigua. We did it to please the goddess María. It was good.

PP whispered to me, “Look at her, she doesn’t want you, she doesn’t care you’re destroyed. You are nothing to her now, she loves only me. You’re not a man anymore, you’ll never touch her again, and she will never touch you. She has destroyed you, you deserve to die. Look what she’s done to you, you’re not a man any more. Tell me you hate her, say it loud, scream how much you hate her and I’ll let you keep your testicles.”

PP was right, I do hate her, she had destroyed me, destroyed my manhood, made me a pathetic, cowering, useless, sexless boy. I hated her and I wanted to keep my testicles, to fuck other women, to be a man again, far away from the whore María. Yes, I hated her. I opened my mouth and croaked,

“María, María, I just want to please you, María mi amor, María …”

PP slammed my face down into the stone table top and held it there. Now the sacrifice of my body on that Mayan altar stained with dark, heavy Male blood was due. I had pledged my body to PP – my testicles, his property, were dying between his fingers. He crushed the testicles together slowly, and pain saturated my body – my head jerked back and my entire body arched, I rolled to one side against his body. I was paralyzed, crying and blubbering.

I thought I was dying. My thoughts spun into a sexual nirvana where perfect penises were always ready to suck, and testicles were unwanted and destroyed. I wanted to watch PP’s face, to see the triumph in his face when he exploded my testicles in his hand, but my face was fixed on María. I felt a perfect affinity with PP – I had swallowed his semen, he had anus-fucked me and pumped my penis into explosive orgasms. He had converted me into his joto (queer); now he was relieving me of the curse of testosterone, and I was grateful.

PerfectPenis continued crushing in search of the other testicle and I drifted in-and-out of utter blackness and intense brightness, the nothingness interspersed with a newsreel chronicling the events of my life which started the day I met María.

End of book content.

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